“Set me down, and I will talk to thee,” replied Xit. “Thou hast almost squeezed the breath out of my body;” and as Og placed him gently on the ground, he continued, “I will now let thee into a secret. But first promise not to be angry.” “I am far too happy to be angry with any one now,” rejoined Og. “Speak out. What hast thou to reveal?” “I must set thee right upon one point. When Lilias quitted thee so suddenly at Winchester, it was not, as thou wert led to suppose, from a desire to be reconciled to her first lover. Her disappearance was contrived by Gog and Magog, who did not wish thee to wed the damsel.” “Thunder and lightning! was it so?” roared Og, with sudden fury. “Remember thy promise,” said Xit. “Well, proceed,” cried Og, trying to calm himself. “Perceiving the mischief they had occasioned, and despairing of remedying the matter, thy brothers applied to me, and out of my love for them and thee, I offered to go to Southampton to see what could be done with Lilias. Accordingly I went, and how I succeeded in my mission thou art already aware.” “I am for ever beholden to thee,” said Og. “And so Lilias will certainly be here in a few days. Why didst thou not bring her with thee?” “I would fain have done so,” replied Xit; “but she had preparations to make before her departure. However, she will be escorted by a young gentleman whom you may remember, Captain Rodomont Bittern, of Cardinal Pole’s household.” “Rodomont Bittern!” exclaimed Og, knitting his bushy brow. “Why should he escort her?” “Because he chances to be coming up to London at the same time—nothing more, thou jealous and suspicious fool,” rejoined Xit. “Captain Bittern’s errand to Southampton was very different from mine. He did not go to propose a marriage, but to attend a funeral. You remember Constance Tyrrell?” “Daughter of a wealthy Southampton merchant,” replied Og. “Yes, I remember her. It was whispered that the King was enamoured of her, but that she preferred young Osbert Clinton. She is now at Lambeth Palace, under the guardianship of Cardinal Pole.” “I see you are well informed about her,” replied Xit. “Well, old Tyrrell, her father, is just dead, and has made a very singular will. Since his daughter has become tainted with heresy, he has lost all affection for her, and has now disinherited her, and left the whole of his immense riches to—whom think’st thou?” “Nay, I cannot guess,” replied Og. “Not to Rodomont Bittern, I trust?”